In 1983, Marion Zimmer Bradley exploded onto the NY Times bestseller list with her feminist re-imaging of the Arthurian legends, The Mists of Avalon. Along with a raft of prequels, it inspired sales in hardcover and trade paperback that obviated the need for the publisher to bring out a smaller, mass-market paperback. It established Ms. Bradley as a fantasy superstar, and it presented the stories of Arthur and his knights to a contemporary audience in a way not seen since T. H. White modernized Merlin and set him loose with Arthur in The Once and Future King. But, since 2014, Ms. Bradley’s reputation took a downturn, following allegations of child sexual abuse, made by her daughter. Does the art stand apart from the artist? Could the Beamers separate the pen from the hand that held it?
Trouble in Camelot
The allegations of child sex abuse hit sf/f fandom hard, and for numerous reasons. On the one hand, Ms. Bradley was a major figure in sf/f genre circles. Writer of a long-running science fantasy series set on the planet Darkover, she allowed other writers to use her setting and collected and published their works. Fans responded by organizing an annual Darkover convention (running up to 2022). With her bestselling Avalon books establishing her name, she became the publisher of her own fantasy quarterly, under her own name. With DAW Books, she launched the Sword and Sorceress anthology series, running to 34 volumes, the first 17 of which list her as editor.
But the troubling rumors had already been circulating. Her 2nd husband, Walter Breen, was a convicted child molester and had been banned from the 1964 Worldcon for predatory behavior. Fandom, however, chose to cover up the crimes, fearing that the loss of Breen would also mean the loss of Bradley, and that loss was unacceptable, even as she chose to defend her husband. As was often the case (cf. Isaac Asimov), sexual abuse could be excused on the grounds of camaraderie and contributions to fandom. Now, however, the Beamers were going to need to confront the issue, at some point.
What befits a Legend?
The Mists of Avalon is a big(!) book, split into 4 sections that each run 250 pages or so. It takes on the accumulated legends of Arthur, the Round Table, the Grail, and the final battle against his son, Mordred. What distinguishes it from other takes on the cumulative myths (cf. T. H. White, John Steinbeck) is the centering of the viewpoint with the female characters, especially Morgaine (aka Morgan le Fay). While it does push all the classic battles with the Saxons off-screen, and does pull in much domestic life and work, it also demonstrates how the frequently overlooked women of the saga were as integral to its major action as any of the knights on horseback. Drawing on the Celtic and pagan traditions that underlie the Matter of Britain, this approach restores much of the female significance that has been overshadowed, often intentionally, by later, masculine-oriented worldviews (look at you, Romans!). From beginning to end, the story we follow is Morgaine’s tale, interwoven into the tragedy of her brother/her lover Arthur.
Liberated or just Bechdel-adjacent?
But is it feminist? Alan pointed out that many of the female observations involved much traditional commenting on beauty, fashion, marriage, maternal urges, and rating men by their looks. And I had to confess that, particularly on this re-reading, much of the tone of the book, when focusing on female interactions, sounded “catty” (sexist term acknowledged). However, most Beamers rallied to the defense of the book’s feminism. I noted the agency that the book granted to women, who acted in their own right, for their own reasons (or at least in accord with the Goddess). Kathy pointed to the attention that female characters held in the book. Arthur actually listens to Gwenhwyfar. David added that William Morris’s The Defence of Guenevere was considered a feminist manifesto, for the simple reason that Guenevere is allowed to speak in her own defense. It is easy for us, with a solid genre tradition of women writers creating strong and admirable female characters, to forget just how misogynistic much of our fiction truly is.
As a result, we have a book with richly detailed female characters, each speaking with her own voice. Chris appreciated seeing such depth of character, removing the one-dimensional “evil sorceress” and replacing her with a fully realized pagan priestess whose more dark decisions (like getting her stepson gored by a boar or sending an assassin after Arthur) at least had understandable (if not admirable) motivation. Sylwia was impressed by the emotional truth that Ms. Bradley allowed her characters to express. The reader can see the character make bad decisions and not condemn them, having a clear insight into the contents of their hearts. And the depth of description was another mark of virtue on which the Beamers agreed. The sense and reality of the landscape, the Summer Country of western Britain, came to life. We felt the chill of the air every time Morgaine parted the mists to let us back into Avalon.
All’s Well that Ends?
The position of Avalon, though, receding from the world, did puzzle us. How, with all its clearly visible magic, did paganism lose out to Christianity?, Roberto wanted to know. Aside from an appeal to history (“It happens ’cause it happened”), we struggled to deduce a good reason. I mentioned the role of the Roman emperor in establishing Christianity, and we discussed the various forms that Christianity took in the book, from pagan-friendly monks to more pious and intolerant zealots (looking at you, St. Patrick and Gwenhwyfar). The arc of religion was bending toward Christian, even if the portrayals of many of its leaders was less than attractive.
And that sense of the passing of a world hangs heavy over the book. It is, as David noted, a tragedy, with a strong resonance of sadness running through the book, culminating in Morgaine’s vision of the Goddess in a statue of Mary, which reveals that her lover and rival, Kevin the Harper, was correct to want the Sacred Regalia to stay in the world, even if it meant becoming Christian instruments (the Grail!). Sylwia noted the irony that Kevin is the one punished by divine lightning for his presumption, even as he is right. I thought that the tragedy was balanced by that commingled sense of the new world being born, one that would include some of the magic, some of the mystery, even as Avalon, Arthur, and Morgaine drift farther away.
Round Tables, like circles, have no beginnings or endings …
The biggest downside of all this lovely description, depth, and emotion was the sheer length of the work (1,000 pages!), and some of the concomitant slowness of the action. Words like “slog” and “repetitive” were brought up. Penn and Berni both were underwhelmed by the overwhelming plethora of characters, incidents, and items from the vast range of Arthurian stories that Ms. Bradley was stuffing into her single work. Berni (in a post-meeting note) did acknowledge that Ms. Bradley did demonstrate some subtlety in adopting or adapting the pairing of characters that is common in Arthurian tales (Lancelet is called Galahad as a young man, as is his son; Morgaine and Morgause are likely the same character, split by later contributors to fulfill different narrative needs). Still, to her mind, the ending of the book, with Morgaine suddenly becoming tolerant of Christianity, felt rushed, even after 1,000 pages. Chris planned to read it in 8 days, and it took 3 weeks, testing his love for politics and intrigue, which fill many pages. Kathy would have requested more editing to bring the book into a slimmer, quicker form, pondering if Ms. Bradley was indulged to ramble on, due to her fame. We may never know.
What we do know is that we were all of strong opinion, in favor or not, enough so to award a ‘4’ (low from the Arthurian purists), and often more so, to grant an ‘8’ or even a ‘9’ (kudos, Chris!). With the overall issue of underage sexuality, we respectfully heard the allegations and debated how to approach an historical fiction that is set in a culture where 15-year-old brides were common. While there are a few scenes that raise the issue (14-year-old Morgause “flirting” with Uther on his lap; a 13-year-old novitiate losing her virginity to elder hunter at Beltane), much of the child bride material could, as Fran thought, be read as disapproving. Each of us needed to make our own decision, and none of us would have scolded a reader who avoided The Mists of Avalon from moral qualms. There are too many other great works to read to make any of them into an ethical purity test.
